fear – She Speaks True Words

The one where she talks about fear.

When I think of the concept of fear, it feels a bit of a misnomer in my life. As someone who has dealt with anxiety the better part of adulthood, fear has felt like a familiar voice, lingering in the recesses of my brain in the form of overthinking and worry about the unknown. As a person who tends to be more driven by emotion, that means I have given far too much merit to my thoughts and feelings, ergo my fears.

A few years ago when Dave passed, my anxiety hit its peak and I knew I needed to take care of my mental health as much as my physical self. As I have taken the time to peel back the layers the past few years, digging through the murky sense of self that I couldn’t quite define, I have come to realize that a lot of who I am has been built by my thoughts and feelings and not on what I’ve known to be there the whole time. My sense of self has been built more on feelings and not always on what I know to be true, what feels right and what feels best for me.

Until recently, I hadn’t realized just how much my decisions – or lack thereof – I have struggled with not because of lack of belief in myself, but because of the constant thought loop in my brain that gets stuck in the familiar, the voice of what I had assumed was reason telling me to stay where it feels safe. It turns out, the voice I had rationalized as reason was a fear that if I were to listen to what I truly want, that it wouldn’t go the way I’d hoped it would. Or it would be harder than I had anticipated. While both thoughts may be true, because of the constant thought loop in my brain, those thoughts turned into irrational fears that have kept me from moving forward.

This summer I picked up doing regular yoga again. What I love about yoga is that it takes you back to yourself; you learn the art of mindfulness, of letting go of your thoughts, of returning to the breath. You learn how to listen, to be still and present in the moment, and how to trust in what you know rather than in the thought loop in your brain.

As I have continued to practice this art (because yoga and mindfulness truly are an art), I have become more fully aware of what I know to be true, what feels right and what feels best for me. My practice and my prayers have kept me grounded on days where I feel like my thoughts have wandered into places of overthinking. As I sit on the cusp of making some life changes, it’s easy to question what lies ahead. It’s easy to ask myself if this is what I really want because I know it’s going to be challenging.

Here’s the thing. Life is hard and I’ve endured a lot. I could choose to stay in survival mode and in this place where my life feels somewhat safe and relatively easy. That isn’t inherently wrong. But I know deep down that in doing so I would be denying a part of myself that I have uncovered, a part of myself that knows I am made for more. I know that some things in life are worth the risk because the reward will be even greater.

Listening to yourself is an ongoing process. It’s a conversation between yourself, your heart and God. For too long, I have invited too many people into the conversation rather than trusting in what I know to be true. Because somehow I have convinced myself that I need permission to go and do the things I want rather than just doing them. Now don’t get me wrong, getting feedback from others is invaluable, but when you trust that or feel the need to answer to that over what you know what is best, then it becomes a loss of self, a letting go of your boundaries for the sake of pleasing those around you.

So here I am, several layers into this onion of my new sense of self. I’ve shed some tears along the way because of the potency of losing ideas I thought mattered, but really were not what I wanted for myself. In yoga, they call this letting go of what is no longer serving you.

As I look ahead to the next few weeks, months and years, I know that I have some challenges, but they are filled with excitement and anticipation. I’m not ready to share the details yet, but soon my recent posts on change will begin to make sense. God makes beauty from ashes and soon enough he will take what I’ve been through, and I will be able to give back to and make a difference for others. My journey is far from complete, and God and his grace are with me every step of the way.

Running the race.

I feel like I have started the beginning of a long race without much of any training. My body feels stiff and sore navigating this unfamiliar territory and wants to push through. As I start the race I feel pretty good; I can do this. It’s going to be a little hard but I’ve got it.

But then I push a little too hard and the terrain changes. I start going up a long hill and cannot see the top. I’m in the midst of this hill and I feel myself slipping, with an ache in my side that makes me want to stop, pull off to the side and rest.

So here I sit, gulping in air and catching my breath. Waiting to regain my strength so I can get back in the race again. This time, knowing that I can’t push too hard too soon. Because the race I am running isn’t a sprint. It is a long one that requires me to endure. To trust myself and the process.

I consider myself a pretty self aware person. I know my strengths and my shortcomings. I wear my heart on my sleeve, which shows itself in my passion, my empathy for others and my sensitive nature. I also tend to try to avoid the bigger emotions I feel: anxiety, fear and grief. Great for times such as these. [Sarcasm.]

I tend to ruminate in my thoughts and emotions, while at the same time trying to stuff them down and move on so as to avoid my overthinking nature. Trying to not feel things I believe I ought not to dwell in too much.

Hence, the race I am enduring. Following Dave’s passing, I thought I was doing OK. I was able to grieve but also pick up the pieces. Make plans. Try to move forward. But all that came to a screeching halt just a few weeks following the funeral with COVID-19 and I found myself homebound with the girls 24/7. I quickly realized that I cannot fast forward through the grief process.

When you want to avoid your thoughts and emotions it’s a little hard when you have less to distract yourself with. Yet my current vice is reading all the books. Mysteries are my favorite way to escape reality. But as the weeks go on, I am reminded that I can’t distract myself from the story I am in. As hard as this story is, I have to let myself write it. With the passion that I carry in my heart. With my girls alongside me.

Today marks two months since David passed away. The first few weeks flew by with the busyness. With slowing down and spending time with the girls at home, it has been a much slower pace. One that has caused me to realize that I need to give myself a lot more grace. To not just let the hard feelings come and then try to quickly move past them. But rather to let them in and recognize them for what they are. To then give myself freedom. Space. Kindness. To my very core.

I started doing yoga again this past week after giving it up several months ago. I forgot how good it feels, both inside and out. One of my favorite mantras from the practice is to be kind to yourself. It’s such a simple phrase but one that is so powerful and true. We tend to pour out kindness quickly to others and less so to ourselves.

Believing the truth about ourselves is what helps us to endure. To run the race marked out for us. One step at a time. As I get back into it, this time I stretch my legs. I look up the hill and see that I am running the race with millions of others. My situation is unique and yet I am not alone in enduring hard times. We must keep going, encouraging each other – and ourselves – along the way. Keeping our eyes forward, on the author and perfecter of our faith. Breathing deeply. Staying focused.

As we keep running, the pain will continue to come and go. And what I’ve realized is that it’s OK to stop and tend to it. But to not stop and give up. I can ask for help. For someone to sit with me through it. To get up and walk with me for a bit until I regain my strength and find my stride again. This is what I’ve come to find renewal in. Again and again. I find myself surrendering to the same truths along the way each time I stumble. Finding hope and faith to endure.

Life is painful. Messy. Filled with heartbreak and heartache. We don’t need to ignore it or try to push it aside quickly and move on. We can let ourselves feel the depths of emotions and tend to our inner being. In the deep, dark spaces we squint, looking for light. When we look for it, we find it. Joy and beauty become that much richer. Life begins to make sense. Because it is in these spaces that we find who we truly are. We find ourselves and each other. And run the race together.

Blessed are those who mourn…

The other night I was getting Hannah ready for bed when the big question came up.

We were talking about how when her daddy was diagnosed with cancer, we prayed and hoped for the best outcome, for him to be healed and get better.

Then came the question: “Why did God say no?” Her deep brown eyes and long eyelashes looked up at me, pleading for an answer.

I paused, knowing this question was coming. “That’s a good question,” I answered. “I don’t know. God doesn’t always answer prayers the way we want Him to. But God promises us He is with us, He loves us and takes care of us even when it hurts and is hard.”

Hannah didn’t say much; she just listened so I went on. “And that doesn’t mean we should stop praying, either. What I do know is that God is with us when we pray. God wants us to talk to Him and pray and get to know Him.”

I’m not sure how much of this Hannah really took in as she then changed the subject. The big “why” question is something I have pondered even before this…why God allows pain and suffering. From my limited human understanding, and from what I’ve read in the Bible and know about the heart of God, I can see He hurts just as much as we do when we are in pain. I think suffering is a result of the broken world we live in. Why is a big question…and I don’t claim to know the answers.

What I do know is that God is near those who mourn, suffer and are brokenhearted. He sits with us. Brings light to our darkness.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” – Matthew 5:4

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18

This is my truth right now. Mourning…grieving…brokenhearted…yet also comforted and deeply loved. The character and heart of God seem so complex to our human minds, yet His love is so simple and pure. I don’t need to earn it or go out of my way to find or understand it. I just need to let myself rest in God’s love and be comforted. It sounds so simple. Sometimes it is that easy. Sometimes my anxiety or grief take over. And I have to let myself breathe. Rest. Let things be as they are.

I know that my days aren’t going to be perfect. I know that grief is going to be messy. I know that sometimes my anxiety will get the best of me. But I also know that I don’t have to try to figure everything out all alone. I am navigating this brokenness one day at a time…by the grace of God.

I am grieving and brokenhearted.
I am hurting and yet I am hopeful.
I am hopeful in promises and truth.
I am in pain and yet I am comforted.
I am surrounded and I am blessed.
I am blessed because I am loved.

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

Rise.

As I drove the girls to school this morning, I saw the full moon in front of me, dimly shining in the early morning sky. Its full beauty was stunning, even without the black night sky as a backdrop, simply because of its light, its size, its magnificent presence in the pure blue light.

The further I drove, the more I could see the sunrise behind me, the shimmering golden sun counterbalancing the full moon in front of me. The weight of the moment was absolutely striking. The two edges of the sky told a story.

There is a balance that occurs when we let glory outweigh fear. A balance that holds up the lights that sink in the sky each day. A balance that can hold the weight that sits on our shoulders. That sits in our guts in the name of fear or anxiety.

If I am perfectly honest with myself, I know the busyness of my days since the funeral has been partially to outweigh the anxiety that is buried deep. The fear that is known to come out in stressful situations. I received a card in the mail today from someone who said she admired my strength in the face of adversity. These are words that have never been used to describe me. I am typically far from calm in a storm. That was David’s role much more than mine. He was my rock.

But here’s the thing. Somewhere in the midst of the storm of the past several months something in me changed. I knew that hanging in the balance something far greater depended on me letting go of myself. My need to let control win. My need to overthink, over plan, over analyze. One day at a time has been my mantra since the diagnosis because I knew that is all I could handle.

And that is all I can continue to handle. Yes, I know I am letting myself still plan to an extent. Be busy. I have a lot of dust that needs to settle. But I know that the beauty of balance, of glory, of peace, doesn’t come from me trying to figure it all out right now. I can’t. I don’t want to. As much as everything inside of me is still trying to. I’m fighting against my natural instincts in order to let myself surrender and be free. To let myself truly live and embrace the beauty in each day. To find light in the darkness. Balance in the weight of glory.

One of the many things I admired about David was his ability to let things be. He didn’t overthink. His calming presence was always exactly what I needed. Now, I am trying to carry on what he instilled in me: Embrace things as they come. Life is full of challenges and adversity. It is about how you respond and rise through them, knowing you can and you will. God will walk through the storm with you.

On David’s last day on Earth, I knew that I needed to carry on this legacy for myself and the girls. To continue to let one day at a time be how I put one foot in front of the other. To honor David and give God the glory.

One day at a time. Eventually these days won’t be so hard. So full of emotions. Unknowns. Rising up through this adversity isn’t going to be easy. But I know I’m not facing it alone. By God’s grace and with the love of wonderful people in my life, the weight is not just mine to carry. They are helping me rise and magnify the beauty of the One who fills me with light.